


Reject the Null Hypothesis

by five_ht



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:23:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/five_ht/pseuds/five_ht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buttplug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reject the Null Hypothesis

Eames has never been a fan of props in the bedroom. He's got nothing specifically against ropes and dildos and whips and other such objects, but when it comes down to it, he'd generally prefer to pin his partner with his own strength, to stretch open with his fingers and cock, to give bruises with his hands and teeth. It's an organic sort of approach. Toys are just an intermediary.

He thinks he may make a slight exception for Arthur's buttplug.

"Jesus, you're so fucking hot," Eames whispers into the nape of Arthur's neck, and he means it literally – Arthur's skin is burning.

"That's what six solid hours of mild stimulation does to a man," Arthur says hoarsely, half muffled in the pillow.

"But you're just…" Eames trails off, running his hand down Arthur's side, curving over his ass. His fingers dip in to trace around the edge of the plug, sitting snugly inside, where it's been since this morning.

"Mmm," Arthur sighs, wiggling his hips, "You can take it out, you know. I mean, that's kind of the point."

Eames takes a breath, "Yeah," he says, pulling Arthur up to his knees. Arthur's thighs tremble in a way that Eames isn't used to seeing, and it's comforting to know Arthur is affected by this too. Eames slowly, carefully removes the plug, watching as the flare stretches Arthur's hole wider before it tapers back down, and Eames is dropping the plug off to the side, absolutely overwhelmed with all of the terribly filthy things he'd like to do and say all at once.

"Fuck," he says, which was not one of the things he had in mind, but he swallows, leaning over Arthur's back and pressing his cock, already leaking, against Arthur's ass. "Fuck, Arthur, I could slide inside you right now."

Arthur moans shakily, pressing back, "Yeah," he says, low and breathy.

"I could have fucked you any time today," he says, just trying to process the thought. He straightens up again to bring his hand between them, one finger just slipping in, like Arthur is trying to draw him inside. "You're all ready for me, look at that," he adds another finger and Arthur still takes it easily, rocking back.

"I'm not gonna last," he warns.

"That's quite alright," Eames says, moving back so he can lean in and lick around Arthur's hole, scissoring him open and darting his tongue inside. Arthur's cry is broken; he's shaking with the stimulation and clutching at the sheets.

Eames gives a sharp thrust with his fingers, pressing and rubbing at Arthur's prostate. "Don't hold back, come on," he murmurs, teasing at the skin stretched around his fingers. He gets about half a second's warning – urgent clenching and a hitch of breath – before Arthur shouts into the pillow, toppling over the edge. Eames pulls his hand free, reaching around to catch Arthur's come before it hits his chest and the comforter, stroking him through his orgasm.

When Arthur finally stops rocking into the contact, Eames' hand is slick and his restraint is fraying. Breathing hard, he lets go of Arthur's cock and slides those same two fingers, now dripping with Arthur's come, back inside. Arthur gives a sob, tensing, but he presses back anyway, always greedy. Adding a third finger is nothing now, and Eames only stops before a fourth because Arthur is breathing words into the pillow, something that sounds like an order.

"What was that?" Eames asks, twisting his hand and delighting in the tight clench he gets for the overstimulation, the too-much too-soon press against Arthur's prostate.

" _Fuck me,_ " Arthur forces out, using what's left of his coordination to reach behind and fumble blindly for Eames' cock, "Inside me, right the fuck now."

Eames grins despite the dizzying arousal, because only Arthur could sound so fiercely demanding when he's this strung out and desperate. Eames pulls his fingers out, using what's left of Arthur's come to slick himself, then presses his cock into Arthur with as much care as he can manage.

He's panting hard once his hips touch Arthur's ass, because Arthur is slick and open and it's all for Eames, it's his private show, and he wishes he could articulate that thought in a way that wouldn't sound alarmingly possessive. He drapes himself over Arthur's back, just rutting into him as deep as he can go, because he wants to touch Arthur all over and pulling out too far would defeat the purpose

"Sorry," Arthur gasps, rocking back into the motion, "I'd planned to draw this out a little longer."

Eames presses his lips to Arthur's shoulder, "You say that," he pants, "Like you think I'm done with you after this."

Shuddering, Arthur can't purse his lips against his grin, "Oh?"

Eames growls, because he can't be expected to deliver coherent sentences when he's this desperately turned on. He snaps his hips just to hear Arthur cry out, just to get them closer to the same level of coherence again. "You'll be all wet after this, we can't waste that. We've got the whole night ahead of us."

"Think you can fuck me again?"

"Fingers first," Eames says, fucking into him harder, "Till you're dripping with my come, till you're _begging_ for me."

"You're gonna make me beg?" The words are a challenge, but his voice is unsteady, breaking at every thrust.

"Promise," Eames breathes, and then there's no room for words. Everything is just pleasure and tight, clenching heat, and Arthur's moans, and Arthur's skin, and Arthur, and Arthur, and Arthur. Eames gropes for Arthur's hand, tangling their fingers together and squeezing way too hard as he comes.


End file.
